Carvings of War
by BrownEyedGirl87
Summary: If the world was meant for peace, it will be. If the world was meant for destruction, it will be. But it will not be perfected again and destroyed once more. "Nothing is permanent in this wicked world, not even our troubles." Yet, why do people cling to life when they know they cannot live forever? Take my hand, welcome to my dream. Vision/OC
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Avengers or anything to do with it. Just my story and OC.**

 **A/N: Soooo, big fan of Avengers and I just saw Age of Ultron a week ago. I wanted to make my first fanfic ever since the first movie came out, but I never had any ideas. Then Age of Ultron came out, and my imagination took off from there. Especially when Quicksilver, Scarlett Witch, and especially Vision came into the mix. I took a strong liking to Vision, so when I came on here I searched for fanfics with him and there weren't many, at least not yet. I thought long and hard about this story, so I hope it turns out good as I thought it may.**

 **Please enjoy! P.S: many other characters will come into mix later on (Hint: Xmen?)**

Chapter 1:

The strange man stops in front of the large window that shows New York, and floats there taking in both the city lights and architecture under the black cover of night and his own reflection above all. At least that's what the Avenger's think. The Avengers readied themselves to take him down if he attacked again. The twins and their friend look less than prepared as they glance at each other before looking back up at the man. The taller girl, the twins' friend, takes in his appearance to every detail, smell, and emotion before the blank of an eye despite him being far out of everyone's reach and up in the air.

The tall girl, whose name is Ruth Kennedy, befriended the twins Pietro and Wanda only over a year ago when all three of them were imprisoned by Hydra. Ruth was found by Hydra when she was walking down the streets of Washington D.C., her normal routine when she wasn't hiding from the world when some crisis came up. Knowing everyone could probably notice her not aging, because of all her personal paperwork and birth certificate from the 1920s, she knew someone would find her someday and that someday and someone ended up being Hydra on a raining Sunday in the modern times. Gunned down and threatened, she was hauled away by them in a large truck to their encampment where she met the twins.

Pietro puts his hand on Ruth and his sister's shoulder, preparing to whisk them away fast as the man moves to turn around. Ruth scans him more gently this time, like a human would do, because there was something about him that gave her the feeling of being human… again. She pushes all her thoughts and memories of her normal life from long ago to the back of her mind and focuses on the present, only to find that she can't. She can't help herself. She goes into deep, heartbreaking, terrible memory…

 _Late 1920s_

 _"We are now speeding down the road of wasteful spending and debt, and unless we can escape, we will be smashed in inflation,"_ President Hoover speaks through the radio to America. However in young Ruth's hearing, the president was directly talking to her family and home. She sits on the carpet in front of the hearth where the coffee table is holding the radio, listening to the static of the radio, the president's distinctive voice, and her mother crying because she lost her small job that helped her family despite. Her job of washing other people's cloths paid for basic necessities while her father was able to pay off all the bills.

"It's alright Helen, it will be fine. Nothing happened yet," Ruth's father soothes her mother. "Not in America, that won't happen. And I didn't lose my job, that's the main thing."

"I hope not," she cries into his shoulder, clutching his black business suit.

"Exactly, that is the word right there _, hope_. We always have hope," her father looks over at her sitting on the carpet, and give her a big smile and a reassuring wink, making Ruth nod her head agreeing. "I promise my girls that we'll be fine." 

It seemed like in the blink of an eye that her whole world changed on October 24, 1929 when the stock market crashed, and her father lost his job. They were able to live in their home still luckily, but barely. Not only a time of panic in America, but in every person's home. Small riots broke out here and there, people breaking to the banks asking for their money, and protestors everywhere in Brooklyn, New York where she lives. This one day in October was the day Ruth and her family, everyone, would never forget. Her family would especially never forget their daughter coming back to life after being shot by a rioter.

 _*hospital*_

Ruth sits up in the bed looking at the doctor and her parents, perky, as if she was never shot through the chest, a fatal wound.

"Now, Ruth, are you sure you don't feel any pain?" the grey haired doctor asks her.

"I'm positive, I don't feel anything," she responds quietly as she stares down at her chest where a barely visible hole where the bullet once was, is.

"Could it have hurt her nervous system? Maybe that's why she isn't feeling anything?" Her mother asks.

The doctor shakes his head, gesturing to Ruth as he takes off his black glasses, "She would be in much worse condition if so. She wouldn't have recovered so quickly as she did. The x-rays even show the tissue all healed up, and the blood vessels and bone is… normal again. I don't understand how, but I can assure you she is indeed fine."

Ruth looks down at her chest still and watches the small hole in her chest close up leaving a faint mark that will go away the next day.

"It must be a miracle. Thank God," Ruth's father says settling for that. The doctor grins with a small laugh.

"I can agree with that. It looks like we're done here folks," the doctor says standing up with Ruth and her parents to leave the room. "No payment is required either."

Ruth's parents look at the doctor with surprised eyes.

"No, you can't be serious. Here," Ruth's father fishes a couple coins out his pocket.

"No! No, keep your money sir. These are rough times," the doctor pushes her father's hand away holding coins.

"They are, but you saved our little girl. And just because times are rough, it doesn't mean we have to keep making it rough," her father says. "Take it please."

The doctor slowly raises his hand and takes the offered coins with tearful eyes, "Thank you. You didn't have to."

"No, thank you," Ruth's father says with a final tilt of his head in thanks to the doctor and they leave the hospital.

 **A/N: This was the start of the story, don't worry chapters will be longer later on! This is my first avengers fanfic, so I'm very excited about this one. It will start with discussing everything about Ruth before it goes back to modern times with the Avengers and the war. Thanks for reading! Please Review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Avengers or anything to do with it. Just my story and OC.**

 **A/N: Hey everyone! Thank you all so much for following and reviewing! I hope that everyone will keep enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it. Sorry if this chapter is short for some people, but it took some time for me to get it all down. As I said previously, chapters will eventually get longer. Without further ado, please enjoy chapter 2!**

Chapter 2:

The days following the hospital visit, with the bullet wound all gone as if it never happened, Ruth had gotten into more situations where she had gotten hurt and healed either almost or completely instantly. She had fallen off the trolley car because she was standing by the doorway, and due to a lot of people in it and pushing against each other, she was pushed out hitting the dirty cement, scraping her up on her legs, hands, and head. The blood stayed on the busy streets of New York until it rained some days later, but the day the accident happened, the blood fell off her skin and her skin sewed itself back up completely. Of course in all odd situations like this, a lot of people saw, even the police who was standing by seeing a little girl falling out of a trolley car. No one knew what to think of it. Ruth doesn't remember what the people called her or what they told her mother, but she does remember that no one apologized after pushing her off as she stared at her own skin in utter amazement.

Her school days were fine until one boy was told by his parents, who were on the trolley when the accident happened, of the weird girl who healed fast as if of magic, and started bullying her at school with a couple other classmates. Verbal bullying turned to physical bullying every Wednesday and Thursday when she had physical education.

"Come on, Ruth! Fight back!" Mason, the number one bully shouts at her as he pushes her against the brick wall of the far side of the gym. All fifty children in the two P.E. classes combined were playing dodgeball, so the coaches weren't paying mind to the corner of the gym as the game was in the middle.

"You really don't get hurt, you just instantly heal," Mason spits at her as he pushed her on the ground after slapping her.

"Stop it! I do get hurt! Healing is what comes after getting hurt you numbskull!" She snaps at him as she tries to stand up.

His fingernails found their way to her cheek and arms, cutting her skin making her bleed softly.

"Don't you dare call me that! If anything you're the numbskull. You're a freak, a witch!" He punched her gut after he spoke, making his couple of friends laugh behind him who are watching silently.

"I don't feel good, I'm dizzy, stop please!" Ruth cries.

"St-step away from her," a shaking voice speaks up.

Ruth squints her eyes open and looks around until her eyes set on an unknown person in her class. She has seen him around before, but he keeps to himself as does she.

"Shut it and go back to dodgeball or we'll beat you up to," Mason tells the boy whose legs are shaking and looks down. "And we'll see how fast your bruises go away!"

After a moment of silence, Mason grins and gets ready to kick Ruth on the floor, before the short scrawny boy steps in and pushes Mason away from her along with punching him square in the nose

"No! Or I'll report you!" The boy looks at him angrily. "Haven't you done enough?"

"Not just yet," Mason looks at him with a glare before tackling the boy.

"No! Mason!" Mason's friends panic and pull him off of the boy at the hardest. "We don't want the teachers getting involved, do we?"

Mason sighs as he shrugs out of his friends hold, "This isn't over you… you…" He trails off as he is dragged away by his friends.

The pale boy take several deep breaths before sitting up, and looking to Ruth who is sitting on the floor with him with her back against the wall.

"Are you alright?" The boy asks her worriedly.

"I'm fine," she answers quietly.

"If not I can bring you to the nurse, you were beaten up pretty good—" his eyes widen when he looks at her and sees no marks on her arms or face.

"No, really I am fine. Maybe a little headache from all of the yelling, but otherwise I'm good. Are you fine? Because you're bleeding some," she gestures to his mouth and nose where blood is trickling.

He puts his hand up to his mouth and pulls his hand back to look at his fingers now red, "Yeah I should probably go get some help."

"Here I'll walk with you, that way you have a witness saying you got hit by a dodgeball. You don't get bruises that easily from a ball," she says looking at the now visible bruises on his face.

He chuckles as he stands up with her to walk to the nurse's office, "Maybe I just bruise easily."

As they walk down the silent hallway in a somewhat comfortable silence, Ruth speaks up.

"Thank you."

He looks at her as they turn around the corner, "You're welcome. How come you never yelled for help or anything?"

"I couldn't because it hurt, plus I don't like being weak. I know how to hit back because my father taught me in case I was bullied, but in that situation I couldn't. They shouldn't bully me, especially boys of all people," she admits.

"No they shouldn't which is why I'm telling the principal. I'm still going to report them even if you're not, that doesn't fly with me," he says with a confident voice.

"That won't do anything. They're still going to do it, just like the public," she mumbles the last part.

"What?" He asks with his eyebrows furrowing.

"Nothing," she sighs as they wait outside the door on the bench for the nurse to call them in after they knocked.

"Why were they bullying you in the first place? And calling you a freak, and witch?" he asks quietly.

She ignored him as she just stared off into distance at all the dust floating in the sunlight's rays hitting the floors. It was still morning, before lunchtime, so she still has a long day ahead of her at school.

The door soon opened and the nurse with bright red lipstick, nurse hat, and thin smile walked out.

"Come right in," she leads them in, shutting the door.

The boy got bandages on the cuts in his lips and eye, cotton in his nose for the bleeding, and some ice for the bruises.

"I'll be back soon, I have to put these files away. You're always getting into something Rogers," the nurse says walking out the door, shutting the door, and the two children hear the click clack of heels down the hallway.

"What is your name?" Ruth asks him.

"Steve, I'm Steve Rogers. What's your name?" he asks turning to her with a face covered with cotton and bruises.

"Ruth Kennedy, it's nice to meet you," she smiles at him making him smile back.

"It's nice to meet you too," he says. "Now, Ruth, how did you heal so fast?"

She swallows nervously, repeatedly, and places with her hands looking down at them, "I'm different."

"We're all different, kid. What do you mean by different, you make it sound… different," Steve says fumbling over his words.

Ruth dismisses him calling her kid, figuring it's just him repeating a quote from somewhere, before responding, "Well, I mean different by not being normal?"

He stares at her with a deadpanned look.

"Don't look at me like that; it's not easy for me to tell because I never told anyone before! And I'm surprised you don't know already from the rumors around school and town," she says.

"What rumors?" he asks her.

"The rumors about me people are calling me a witch because I heal instantly. It started the day when the stock market crashed and I was shot by a rioter, and the bullet just fell out of me and I healed back up on my own somehow. The doctor said it could've been a miracle from above. Then on a trolley in front of a ton of people, I was pushed off and scraped up real bad I must say, and my skin sewed itself up in front of everyone's eyes, even my own! I'm being bullied now because of that, and that Mason kid? He beats me up just to see me heal back up! I don't see it getting any better after this," Ruth explains not feeling the small hot tears that escaped her eyes.

Steve sat up at some point in the conversation and sat in front of her to console her.

"Don't say that. Things like this happen so better things can call together. I believe you, that you can heal instantly, I didn't see it but I do see that you have no marks on your skin. That doesn't make you a freak or witch, or anything what people call you. You're not one to me and I'm sure you're not one to your family. There's a reason why you're like this, I don't know what it is but I know it can only be good. You seem like a good person as I'm starting to get to know you," he tells her considerately.

She smiles as she goes to hug him making him tense up, "Thank you Steve."

"No problem," he says awkwardly.

She pulls away sensing his awkward feeling, and asks him curiously, "How old are you?"

He clears his throat, "I'm eleven, you?"

"I'm nine. I am a kid to you," she answers making him look at her confusedly before laughing.

"I think we're going to be good friends. If you want to be, I don't have a lot of friends-" she cuts him off.

"I think we will. It's an honor to be one of your friends now," she says making him nod his head and give her a smile. She knew what he was going to say, that he didn't have friends just like her.

"Wha-what are you doing?" Steve asks her panicking at the scissors blade she is holding next to her arm.

"Show you my ability," she says with an obvious tone.

"No! Don't, I know you can. I don't have to see it-" he hurriedly says.

"But you want to," she says back to him making him silent. With that, the scissors blade quickly scrapes the surface of her arm, making a long streak of thin blood. Steve cringed and gulped, before watching the surface blood to drop to the floor, the rest of it goes back in her cut, and her skin starts sewing itself back up slowly yet fast.

"It does it on its own. I have no control of it really," she says looking at her now smooth unblemished arm.

"Ruth, you're definitely not a freak, but you're something else alright," Steve says breathlessly still gawking at her arm.

 **A/N: Awww, Ruth and Steve are becoming friends! They're so sweet. Poor Ruth and Steve being bullied. I'm sorry to say, but it won't get easier for them for some time. I hope you enjoyed it! The next chapter will be up one day this month. Please review, follow and favorite! Thanks!**

 **-BrownEyedGirl87**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Helen Kennedy smiled at the scene before her; the picture of happiness in hard times. Her husband sat on a chair beside Ruth, who sat on the bench in front of a piano, and both parents watched her play with astonishment on their faces as Ruth glided her small fingers on the ivory keys playing the famous composed piece of music, Beethoven's 5th Symphony.

Her piano lessons had taught her basics and the simple song "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," but after finding out her piano teacher went out of business due to the bad economy, her teacher gave away her piano to the Kennedy household as she left New York in search of more work.

Since then, Ruth has listened to the radio in her living room, the classical music station, and had quickly learned songs by ear and played them from what she heard. Her parents saw this new unusual intelligence and understanding in their 9 year old daughter both in school and her home, so playing piano is learned as easy as walking.

Marveling at the upcoming grand finale of their daughter playing Beethoven's 5th Symphony, her parents watched anxiously as her fingers danced across the keys with ease, playing soft tinkling and profound music that can bring tears to the eyes.

She was special. Even before they found out her healing ability and quick learning skills, she was special to them even then. However, her parents did not take too kindly on what the small community around them had been treating and calling her, "a pathetic freak of nature." They thought of moving, but it would cost plenty. Ruth didn't even want to leave, which she firmly stated one night after school and they asked about her day. She learned to not elaborate on school and how one particular group of kids treat her. Other than that, she is pleased with her life, and she has a best friend, Steve Rogers.

Her mother still believed that the gun shot had something to do with her daughter's new self. After well visits to the doctor, however, she is always told the same thing, 'nothing is wrong with her. She is just a growing girl and maturing.' Sure her daughter never stops smiling, tells her otherwise. Perhaps the doctor is right, she is an early bloomer.

Pressing the final keys, she looked up at the applause, cheers, and big smiles her parents gave her.

"Did that sound like the song?" she asked for reassurance.

"You bet it did. It was spot on! Beethoven maybe even jealous or has she changed personality wise, she is still her little girl and always will be, but an intuition in her stomach of our little girl, don't ya think, Helen?" her father said as he tickled his daughter making her laugh and blush.

Her mother lets a laugh escape her mouth as she responded, "He just may be. That was wonderful Ruth!"

"Thank you," she said proudly because she has completed a longer song.

Her father heard it in her voice, "That is something to be proud of Ruth. That confidence you have, keep it forever and never let anyone bring you down to their level. Any other fights or arguments at school from now on, don't let them bring you down."

"Yes dad. I will keep it forever," she responded just as seriously before a yawn escaped her.

"In speaking of school, you have it in the morning. Bed time," her mother said as she watched her daughter obey sweetly and headed to her bedroom.

"Unbelievable, huh?" Helen looked at her husband who still sat staring at the piano as if wondering its magic.

"Yes, it is," she said letting one last smile spread across her face before she headed off to her room.

"You have an early morning too, Richard. Job searching," she called out her bedroom door to her husband who groaned before he too headed to bed, not before turning off all the lights.

* * *

Rain beated profoundly down from the opaque sky onto the fissured city streets as Steve and Ruth headed home after school with a hasty step, or rather ran because they were being chased by Mason and his group of aggressors.

Splashing up water, making their legs and wore down socks on their feet soaked as the silver bullets wetted their clothes and heads, they ran through puddles all through the streets until they could hear Mason no more. Getting out of the rain, they went into an empty alley way that's covered by tin metal, which both sides are connected to the sides of the rundown buildings on either side.

"I think we lost them. Must have got out the rain," Steve panted as he leaned against the brick wall, trying to calm his breathing down.

"I hope so," Ruth said shivering from her damp clothes as a stray breeze blew down the alley, and leftover nerves from running. "I never liked alleys."

"It's alright, we won't be here long. Just until the rain lets up some, and then you'll be on your way home," Steve said with a shaking but comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Or until we let up!" Mason exclaimed indignantly, entering the alley with his two friends who were equally soaked like Ruth and Steve. Steve's hand quickly dropped from her as he turned to face the other boys with a cross but weary glare.

"I don't understand Mason, why can't you leave us alone?" Steve honestly asked him.

"Why can't we leave you alone? Oh we were, but someone happened to start a fight with me and my friends before the school break. Now that we're back, we're getting our revenge," Mason said with a sly, angered grin.

Ruth looked over her shoulder at Steve with a glare, "How could you do that!"

"They beat us up constantly Ruth! For no reason at all, only to see you hurt and heal instantly. It was time someone showed them that we're not taking anything," Steve responded with a serious look.

"But not starting a fight! At least-" Steve cut her off.

"The fight started long ago," he said. "Every Wednesday and Thursday at P.E., and sometimes every day, being taunted! It's not right."

"No it isn't, don't you think I know that. If I could I would stop it but it—" not only did Steve cut her off again, she paused anyway noticing the silence of the alley.

"You can stop it! No 'if's', 'but's', none of that!" Steve continued, berating his only friend.

"They're gone," Ruth whispered looking where Mason and his friends once were. Realizing their fighting must've chased them off, they were blessed that there was going to be no beating up today.

"Maybe we should do that more often," Steve joked with a small smile as he noticed the rain lightened up some.

"It may not work every time, besides, I don't like it when you're angry. And us fighting fake or not, it won't get us anywhere. Like you said, you go to show them which I agree," she reminded him with a little smile in return, rubbing the tiredness out of her eyes.

"Are you going to be able to make it back to the orphanage alright?" She asked him with a worried tone.

"Yeah, I'll be alright, nothing I can't handle," he smiled reassuring her before looking out of the alley watching the rain slowly cease. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay," she said waving bye to him as they both walked out of the alley and into the busy street, going their separate ways. Both relieved that they were not in a fight today, that is until the next morning Steve had told her what she missed out on after they parted ways.

 **A/N: It seems something happened to Steve, what could have happened? And I bet some are wondering when Vision stuff and the actual Avengers plot will come in, it will soon because that is why I created this story. Sorry if this was a short chapter, but it needed to be a filler chapter because I am planning for the next two chapters to be loonnngg so we can go right into Avengers soon. That is my goal and I hope I succeed without rushing it. Now that I think about it, I shouldn't rush writing *facepalm*. I will see this story to the end :). Thank you all for reading, I'm so happy you like it! :)**

 **-BrownEyedGirl87**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Ruth finds herself staring into the brown eyes of Steve's savior, Bucky Barnes, who in turn waves from across the table nervously at the quiet girl looking at him cautiously but welcoming. When Steve was heading home to the orphanage, the bullies that he resides with there were waiting a couple blocks before ganging up on Steve to shove him around. For what reason, Ruth still didn't know. All she can think on it is that his size is what makes other children pick on him. He being shorter than all the boys doesn't sound like something worth being bullied about, but sadly it is.

"Thank you for helping him Bucky," she says to the boy sitting up straight and confident.

"No thanks is necessary, Steve and I already went over that," Bucky smirks at Steve who shoves his shoulder, returning the grin.

"Well you'll have a hard time going over it with me because I'm stubborn and will always say thank you," she states going back to chewing her lunch as Bucky and Steve laugh.

"It looks like us three are going to be some good friends alright," Bucky says as two pairs of eyes look back at him. Ruth smiles and nods her head, "Yes we will."

"We will," Steve looks into space as if in deep thought. When Ruth sees this she turns her head to see where he was looking, and he was looking at the turned backs of the bullies who are ignoring them completely.

"Don't worry about them," she hears Bucky tell Steve reassuringly.

When she sees Steve is still tense, which she doesn't blame him for, she speaks up.

"They aren't talking about us. They're talking about everything but us."

Going back to her meal after Steve nods his head, breathing more calmly again, she catches Bucky's curious look briefly before it goes away.

It seemed that after this day that the bullies at school were no more bullying them. Whether it was because of Bucky saving Steve, or that when Mason and his group left at Ruth and Steve's argument they didn't know. They tried hard not to think more on it, so they settled for it being a blessing, a wonderful, grateful blessing.

* * *

 _Time Skip_ **~ 1943 ~ Ruth's POV**

People say you don't know what you've got until it's gone. Truth is, you know what you had, you just never thought you'd lose it. I lost my mortality all those years ago without me ever knowing. The reason I healed, well, still heal instantly and have heightened senses is due to me being immortal. I found out my immortality just before my father passed a month ago. My father had taken me to a scientist that he had come to meet on the street somehow someway, he never told me. The private appointment with Dr. Abraham Erskine and my parents, who I made sure were with me, ended up being a lot of needles and blood samples. Dr. Erskine confirmed by DNA is made up of regenerating particles, and with that and the rest of myself, showed no signs of current and future aging. My genetic makeup is frozen in time and will be forever. How I came to be this way, he didn't know, so that was the only empty space on the paper not filled out in my file that he has. Only the stamp across the top which stated in red blotchy ink "FS" standing for "Further Study".

That night I had never cried so much in my life nor has my parents. And I wasn't planning on telling Steve or Bucky, my still and only friends. I knew for a fact things would change between us. Not only that, but Dr. Erskine made me promise to not tell a soul. If I didn't keep this in absolute secrecy, it would put me in danger of my information getting into the wrong hands. So my continued quiet life at home kept going even after my father's passing.

I run through the busy loud streets of New York catching up to Bucky who I saw blocks down turn into an alley way. The only time he or I go down an alley way now is due to Steve being beaten up. Nothing like the school days, but it's still a fight, and Steve never walks away from a fight with that instilled honor in him which makes him the greatest man I know next to my father, and Bucky.

I finally get to the alley way and turn, but not before looking up and briefly aweing at the fireworks exploding in honor of the 1943 World Exposition of Tomorrow.

Pulling my light tan knee length collared coat around me tighter as I walk in the chilly and damp alley, I see Bucky talking to Steve, whose clothes are all ruffled from the fight and he wipes his bloody nose with his hand.

"Sgt. James Barnes, shipping out for England the first thing tomorrow," I hear Bucky say as I stop in my tracks to hide behind a wall to eavesdrop. When was he planning on telling me?

"I should be going," Steve sighs disappointingly making my heart drop. He was rejected again. I catch a glimpse the declined drafting paper before Bucky throws it off to the side and make their way out the alley. I take that as my cue to go to them.

"And look who finally shows up," Bucky says with a grin taking in my appearance. "You could've walked further, instead of making us come to you."

I roll my eyes, "I'm not saying anything to that because I don't want to 'stir things up' again. And I'm a lady, wearing painful heels. That's reason enough to not walk further," I groan as they continue to laugh. Plus I was just inches from the entrance of the alley overhearing their quiet conversation taking place deep in the middle thanks to my sharp hearing. It felt like I was there next to them.

"Are you joining us then to the expo?" Steve asks me.

"In those shoes? She won't make it any further," Bucky jokes before I pinch his arm making him hiss in pain.

"Yes I'll go for a little bit, as long as I'm in the company of my best friends," I say taking Steve's offered arm.

"Are you alright with a couple more friends joining us?" Bucky asks as we walk out the alley and make our way to the glowing expo. I crane my neck to look up at the huge iron statue of the world which sits in the center of the square. When I turn my head right and look up once more at the rattle of a train track above, there is the futuristic train running from not wheels beneath it, but small wheels above it as if they are hangers on a clothes rack sliding down the narrow trajectory with electricity.

"Who?" Steve asks curiously as I take my arm out of his and walk behind the guys.

"Bucky!" A feminine voice shouts in the distance before Bucky could respond. There by a statue were two women around my age waving over to us, well, Bucky.

"I knew that was coming," I mumble. "Looks like we may part ways, don't want to embarrass anyone or let them think you are taken."

"No you don't have to go-"

"Yes that would be horrible. Thank you for understanding," Bucky says interrupting Steve who sends a small glare at him.

"What did you tell them about me?" Steve asks hesitantly as we get closer.

"All the good stuff," Bucky smiles. "You will be the only man living in New York with almost 3 million women around you. I got to help my friend out."

"Ha ha," Steve chuckles before turning to me, well look up at me. "You can stay if you want. It'll be nice to have someone who would pay attention to me if this doesn't go over well."

"No it's alright, I wasn't going to stay long out here anyway, you know me I don't party much. Enjoy your night Steve. Think positive. Don't do anything stupid, and that goes for both of you. See ya'll around," I say walking in another direction as we approached the girls who are rather pretty and look nice. Maybe Steve will like one of them.

I thought that until I felt the two girls aura's as I walked away, cold impressions. They are there for Bucky, once again. Sighing and praying that they don't hurt my friend Steve, I shake my head as I make my way towards the doors to get inside the expo. I can't do anything about it this time.

"Welcome to the Modern Marvels Pavilion," a recorded voice speaks over the intercoms inside the expo about where to go and what to check out. I could barely go see anything because of the sea of people crowding in front of every exhibit and walking wherever I walk. It didn't help for many people almost tripping on their own feet to the dark and dimly lit room. Only the light of the signs, light beams angled on the walls, and the blue lit up floor shining every so 5 feet. For me, I could see just fine when no one was standing in front me. I'm taller than most women, but still short compared to men, so I'm average I guess. This immortality is still sinking in. What else could happen to me? Would I grow taller and taller? Would my fingernails not be able to be clipped one day due to my immortal bones? I shudder, _I better not._

 _You are still every inch a human being. You will go about the same ways, only a different routine than most people. You're just immortal._ I remember Dr. Erskine saying at that life changing visit.

I could only glance at a red suit that was encased in a glass tube. A Synthetic something created by Dr. Phineas Horton? Seemed neat.

I didn't know where I was walking after, but I made it to a stage just as music started to play.

"It's starting!" People are saying with big smiles as they stop where they are and look at the now lit up stage where a red car sits with five showgirls in front of it dressed as what looks like sexy magicians. Only one person in the world that I've heard of would have this display.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Howard Stark!" The applause grew louder and some were cheering as the young billionaire man walked onto the stage, grinning towards the crowd before he takes off his tophat and kisses one of the girls. Is this the show? I still couldn't help but giggle as he took out his handkerchief and wiped his mouth after the girls left the stage.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, what if I told you in just a few short years your automobile wouldn't have to touch the ground at all," Howard Stark begins as they crowd gets curious and excited.

The showgirls return to the stage to take the tires away from the car revealing metal vents in place of them.

"With Stark reverse technologies, you'd be able to do just that," he grins once more as he turns a knob and raises a lever making the car float up a good four feet, until something burns out making the car crash down roughly onto the stage smoking.

"I did say a few years didn't I?" Howard chuckles, not really expecting that to happen. To be honest I kind of wasn't either. That's my optimistic self and keeping my mind open to all these possibilities.

"Steve?" I hear Bucky's voice question crowds of people away from me. My eyes immediately find him with the two girls standing in front of him smiling at Howard Stark leaving the stage. What could've happened this time?

Before I could react, I see my mother's doctor run towards me with an expression of panic.

"Mary!" I say as she runs right up to me with wrinkled clothes from running all this way.

"It's your mother," she breathes in between pants. "She's fallen ill." I must've caught one of her pants in my lungs if breathing hard is contagious. Everything around me froze as I felt my stomach twist.

I break out into a run back home to my family's apartment that we still have since I was born. My mother has been sick with cancer for 7 months now. 6 months since I started studying diseases and sicknesses in college, and ways to cure it.

When I get home, the sight there in my mother's bedroom is what I wasn't expecting. Her shivering under many covers in her bed, and a bucket beside the bed.

"What happened?" I ask worriedly as I approach her. "Why aren't you at the hospital?"

"Don't come near me darling, I'm sick, very sick," she answers hoarsely. _Darling._ My mother always called me this in her loving warm voice.

"It won't harm me mom," I say as I take slow steps towards her bed until I'm standing with my legs against the blue comforter.

"I don't want you here, to see me like this," she says glancing at the pillow and back at me.

"No one wants people around them when they're sick. But I'm your daughter, you're my mother, I'm here for you."

"Yes you are," she gives me a ghost of a smile, and her eyes light up. "You've always been there for me as I for you. The doctor said I don't have long though, less than a week to a month at most. They did all they could for me."

Hot tears started burning my eyes, but I forced them to not fall, "No they have to do something, my professor said they aren't too far away from a possible cure!"

"Too far away needs to be much closer now if it is to cure me darling, I believe I won't be here for that day," she says sadly.

"I can give you some of my blood! We could try, Dr. Erskine could come over and transfer-"

"No! Do not give me your blood, I don't want anyone else's blood flowing through me even if I saved my life," she says angrily.

"How could you say that?" I say not even bothering holding back my tears anymore.

"I am old now Ruth. I can't live forever, like you. I lived my life, and I can't keep fighting when I can't take it anymore, I'm not as strong as I used to be," she says softly raising a shaking thumb to wipe one of my cheeks. Tears are trailing down my face.

"But, But I'm not ready for you to go," I break down and sob, controlling myself falling over as I sit by her side.

"And you'll never be, no one ever is ready for their loved one to pass. Life always goes on, mortal or not. As you have your father in you, you'll always have me darling. _My Ruth_."

Hit me right in my heart. Those words have been only said by both of my parents, and this is probably the last time I'll ever hear it.

"I love you mom," I say shaking with sobs as I give up the fight and lay beside her.

"I love you too," she mumbles beneath the covers letting sleep take her. Sleep didn't come for me for a while, and when it did, I've never been more tired in my life.

* * *

The next day came fast, but it went by slow. I took care of my mother with the help of nurse Mary, received a note from Bucky saying he was being shipped out today, and found out that last night was the last time I'd see Steve for a while.

He got accepted into the army and was sent off just like Bucky. He wrote me sometimes on breaks from the show he did. Yeah, he became the famous and iconic Captain America, and did shows for kids and military men alike. Not only were my two best friends in a gruesome war, but Steve informed me he was experimented on which made him this tall super soldier. Dr. Erskine and Howard Stark were a part of it but he said nothing more other than telling me in a P.S. note at the bottom, Dr. Erskine was killed.

Where did his files go then? Who has them now if anyone does? Who has my information? The day I went to his old office, looking like the day I went for the appointment minus the dust everywhere, it was empty. All but a sign stating "The future home of Dr. Kensworth Dentistry." I even checked for loose floorboards, hidden closets—and I did come across one, a hidden wall compartment. He would've hid my information because no one should know of my immortality.

When I push against the wall, it opens and shows where my folder used to be because of the dust leaving the imprint of it. An old note was also stuck to the corner of the compartment which read: _For Ruth Kennedy._

My nose then caught a strange smell; someone else's hands were on this. I turn the note over when I see writing bleeding through from the back too. Reading this one word, made up or some acronym, I didn't know what it was, but it doesn't sound friendly: _Hydra._

I quickly crumbled the note in my hand, stuffing it in my pocket to dispose of later, and made my way for home.

And my home was surrounded my ambulances, and a police car making my heart drop. _Mother._

She had a stroke while I was gone. I knew I shouldn't have left but she convinced me to go get my file that I never found. Wanting my safety and for me to have that file, she also didn't want me to see her die, which she did at the hospital overnight.

* * *

A year later in 1944, war still going on and no letters from Steve or Bucky, I went on with my ever going life. I did what I promised my mother, to move out of the apartment and live secretly elsewhere, which was live in the home of my mother's used to be nurse, Mary. She and I became friends during my mother's tough time. It was when she got married, a joyous wedding in this war-time that I attended, she moved out to live with her husband leaving me her home which I appreciated so much. Of course we stayed in contact, she was all I had now. When I wasn't out working at my nursing job, which lasted from early morning to the late evening, she would call me or come visit me. Staying busy is something that I know I'll have to do for the rest of my life to keep me distracted. Despite all this sadness that passed, and the pain I still feel inside, I still smile, like nothing happened.

* * *

Early 1945, when the war finally ended, I received a letter from a General Chester Phillips. I quickly opened it to only withdraw a long note notifying me that Bucky has been killed in action, and Steve had risked his life flying a drone plane with explosives into the icy waters of the North Atlantic. The General also added that Steve always talked about me, and how much he missed me.

My loud cries and sobs filled the empty apartment scaring a bird on the window sill, making it fly away probably forever. I collapse on the floor clutching the letter into a fist as I let all my pain slip out. I hold it back to let it build up some more, and let it out in more choked sobs.

Finally feeling numb, still crying, I didn't feel my hand let go of the letter as my eyes closed, believing they would stop shedding tears, and fell asleep.

 _"Immortal mortals, mortal immortals, one living the others death and dying the others life." –Heraclitus._

But I won't let my immortality destroy me as I won't forget my mortality made me who I am today with quotes from philosophers dancing through my mind. Everything happens for a reason, the good, the bad, in everyone's life. To see the rest of my life through, to keep fighting on, so be it.

I'll give whoever comes my way my hand, and welcome them into my dream as their faces come and go. And hold back the tears.

 **A/N: Looonngg chapter, a very sad one to have written. I can't count how many times I teared up. I hope you all enjoyed it still and like it. The next chapter will be up soon. Thank you all to those who are still reading, reviewed, followed, and favorited, I deeply appreciate it! :) Thank you!**

 **(I predict the Vision appearance will happen after the next chapter I'll post. Avengers are still assembling :) )**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm back! Motivation happened and inspiration, please do not be angry about the year long... wait, break... Bruce, calm down. None of you 'Hulk' out on me. Updates shouldn't be this spaced out now, I have time and strength to complete this and my other stories, but bear with me. I'm trying to perfect these as much as possible. Enjoy this chapter with a special cameo ;)**

 **Chapter 5:** **The 60s –Ruth's POV**

 _'He rocks in the tree tops all day long. Hoppin' and a-boppin' and singing his song. All the little birdies on Jaybird Street love to hear the robin go tweet tweet tweet. Rockin' robin, rock rock. Rockin' robin'  
Blow rockin' robin 'Cause we're really gonna rock tonight!'_

"I'm afraid I don't understand, sir," I ask my coworker who sighs frustrated.

"Look, I am a professor, yes?" he asks as I nod, ignoring his foot tapping to the catchy song playing on his radio.

"Yes sir."

"You are a nurse, a graduate student of Harvard and Yale, who comes here to further her research?"

"Yes, we-"

"Then you should do as I say. I am on a roll here with my study of cancer, and I asked if I may take your blood as a sample just like the rest of the crew and volunteers-" I interrupt him quickly.

"No you can't. With all due respect sir, other than breaking the law of experimenting on coworkers- yes sir even drawing blood is accounted for- and for other reasons I can't, even if I wanted to."

He slams his fist on the table making my chest move from an intake of sharp breath, but I never blink.

 _'Pretty little raven at the bird-band stand told them how to do the bob and it was grand._

 _They started going steady and bless my soul, he out-bopped the buzzard and the oriole!'_

"Why?" He exasperates.

"I have studied my own blood in the past, and ever since I took on this job I've looked into your research and hypothesis', and I know for a fact they won't match."

"What? How?"

"My blood is no good," I sum it all up which seemed to make him angrier. And did I mention he isn't quite so bright? In the wisdom department and the 'goldfish thinking' department as he calls it. Everyone is a goldfish to him outside this office.

Despite my grey surroundings, and fluorescent lights shining down hard on my head, nothing shines more than his glasses and anger trying to be suppressed for professionality sake.

"You have a disease I'm not aware about?"

"No sir. A day without eating or a day of healthy foods won't change me either."

"Get out. You know what we're intended to do, to _find_ ," he points towards the door irate. I hurry out before anything else could be said. The professor also known as my coworker, Shane, is very… ticked off easily, and when he gets frustrated, his hands fly in all directions dramatically and whines to the other coworkers when he doesn't get what he wants.

I sigh, clutching my book bag as I walk down the hallways of Georgetown University, in Washington D.C. I moved here because I got tired of busy and ever crowded New York, I wanted to start a new life elsewhere, and I was paranoid of New Yorker's descendants recognizing the same face every decade. So far, life in D.C. is both well and not all it's cracked up to be. But that's life. It would be even better if coworkers and other similar organizations quit asking me for blood samples, I've already had a low supply to begin with before my immortal self-came to be. In speaking of my immortal self, I stopped aging at twenty-three years, and my final height is 5'8". I feel like a descendant of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln or something. Too bad those amazing men couldn't still be living, and my father.

Every step feels like my feet are submerging in wet cement and being slowly lifted to keep trudging along. I make my way to the familiar bar 'Marv's Beer' just before I go home. I'm not a bar person, nor do I drink, but I go there because it plays good music, men don't disturb me, and their water is the cleanest and freshest I've ever had. The music gets me by my rough days, and water.

' _You're such a prude'_ is what Bucky would have told me, and Steve would have defended my honor. _Oh Steve, thank you. Bucky… Eh._ Goodness I miss them.

In my inner musings, I pull open the square patterned stained glass door of Marv's and walk in, smiling at the bald headed owner wearing a green paisley shirt, wiping the counter and hearing the complaints of the brute guy sitting at the bar.

My eyes adjust to the orange and dim lighting as I go to my usual place, the far left corner, away from the smokers and men on the other side, and pull my huge textbook out of my book bag to plop on the sticky polished wooden table. Taking out the long hair pin in my hair, holding up my French twist, I lay my head down on the book with arms folded above the book and my hair falling around my face and pooling on the table. One of my worst headaches ensues.

In the 30's and 40's, this position of a woman leaning over a table and not sitting straight would not be allowed, even in a bar. If I learned anything in my extended life so far, it is very eerie how times, beliefs, people, and opinions change, and people grow to accept one another. Dare I say, love one another.

"Someone had a rough day," I hear the owner call out my way from his place behind the counter.

"Eh," I breathe out making him chuckle. "If you know me by now, every day is rough."

"Nah I don't believe that," he says as I lift my head to look his way with a pointed look.

"Me either," the brute man with dark hair and long sideburns says to himself playing with the ash tray. "You look healthy and hassle-free as a peach, dearie."

Caught off guard of his input, I look the stranger's way sensing a vaguely similar aura that is like mine. Almost unhuman, but vibrantly alive no matter how much he dims it down with his rough demeanor _. Strange._

"Then you don't know me," I say opening up my book, looking away from the hairy and mysterious looking man, as the owner, Marv Jr., comes to place my glass of iced water and lemon in front of me. "Thank you."

Marv smiles at that, "I'm just joking, I do know you. Now by the looks of it your coworker lashed out at you again."

"I wouldn't say lashed out. More like not taking no as an answer, again, and respecting that decision turning him into a frustrated blockhead," I explain causing him to laugh loudly at my choice of words.

"Fascinating. That's why I stayed careful of avoiding success," Marv exclaims sarcastically as he goes back to his job behind the bar and continue to pick up broken shards of glass, and I take that comment as my cue to start reading my book silently, a book about DNA.

Absorbed in my reading, I'm still aware of what is going on around me: such as the hippie couple smoking in the opposite corner of the bar together, seven men with dandruff playing pool and drinking, a grey haired man in his early fifties passed out on a table asleep, and the tough guy who previously spoke to me sitting perched on his stool by the counter waiting for his next drink. Yes, some of the things my eyes can't help but notice is rather gross and icky, but if it helps me to be aware more, and it helps me to know when I'm safe or not, then so be it. Besides, I can't change that if I wanted to. I can either have my eyes open to see it, or close them and use my other senses to visualize it, sometimes uncontrollable.

 _"You need to calm down Ruth," Steve told me after Bucky walked away._

 _"I can't, I—" laughter from other kids made me blink nervously, my eye lids shaking. "I can't. Not until Bucky comes back."_

 _"I'm here," Steve said caringly, but almost unsure himself at his own confidence he'd be able to defend me and fight off bullies as easily as Bucky does._

 _"Try tuning them out. Don't I see your dad tune your mother out sometimes?"_

 _Giggling, I smiled a little, "Yeah. But it's rude."_

 _"Well your mom can be a chatter box. Anyway, it won't be rude now. It'll calm you down, trust me Ruth."_

 _I licked my dry lips, and nodded. Trusting him immediately at his words._

 _"Okay. I guess I'll shut my eyes.." I trailed off._

 _"Now, don't picture anything. Nothing. Let any sound trail away, let smells fall away, don't feel.."_

 _"Don't feel," I repeated under my breath._

I remembered nothing after that moment of actually tuning out the world hearing nothing but silence. I only woke up to Steve and Bucky shaking me awake and waving a napkin in my face for cool air. They said I blacked out and they could see the whites of my eyes.

Shuddering at the memory, definitely caused by the grey haired man fast asleep on the table across the way, I adjusted my position in my chair, pushing my chair closer to the wall behind me to lean back against it, two more men then walk in and approach the tough man from behind, smelling funny.

My nose in fact wiggles as if I had an itch.

"Excuse me, I'm Erik Lehnsherr," the taller, sharp featured man in a leather jacket starts.

"And I'm Charles Xavier," the other man wearing a grey business suit says with a smile.

"Go f**k yourself," the brute guy says ever so casually without a care, picking up a cigar from a bowl and putting it to his lips to smoke.

I sit in my corner, shocked at his language, but can't help but let out a hushed giggle at the men glancing at each other and actually backing away and leaving.

And I shouldn't have giggled or breathed, because one of the men heard me, looking my way. I keep staring down at my book reading but I feel his eyes on me, Charles he said his name was.

I look up as they walk out, and my eyes lock into Charles', filled with curiosity and contemplation, and my mind started hurting painfully. But it was gone after he walked out.

"I heard you giggle, dearie," the gruff man says puffing his cigar and downing his drink before turning to meet my dark eyes with his dark ones.

"Really? From way over there?" I ask.

"Yeah. You heard what we said from over there?"

"Yes. It sounds like we both have good hearing," I ironically point out, putting my book away, leaving a tip on the table for Marv, and getting up to leave.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" He says breathing smoke out of his mouth with a serious face, but flirting eyes looking me up and down making something in me freeze cold, inwardly shudder. Now I'm uncomfortable.

"No," I lie, "As I said earlier I had a rough day. It was nice talking to you and thanks for the laugh," I say heading out, leaving the man at the bar alone. I swear I briefly heard him mutter _'Nice talking to me my ass.'_

The door closes behind me when a black gloved hand clamps over my mouth, and my fist punches the person's chest, but he/she doesn't falter, and I didn't get the chance to register their face.

"Do not scream and come with me," an unarguable voice says. _A man's voice._ He leads me down a near, narrow alley way with no choice. I try seeing the man's face, but he keeps my head pointed straight, a locked grip on my jaw making my senses unable to picture him making me panic. All my weak spots are being breached.

"Let me go," I say wriggling in his firm grasp when he finally removed his hand from my mouth to breathe, but still can't see his face.

"I'm afraid not, _Ruth, FS 506,"_ he emphasizes my name and 'classified' file number making my eyes widen. Before I could say anything, I felt a knife slice through my coat, and cut my side spilling some blood.

"What are you doing?!" I yell uncharacteristically to my quiet self, not able to move as he is pressing me against the wall.

"I just need some blood," he says casually, letting the knife drip the red blood into a vile. "Thirsty for some eternal youth, you know? The boss too. But first we'd like to see if it really works before we come back for you."

"What boss!? You're crazy! Steve! Bucky!" I yell feeling my mind start to lose all sense of concentration, and I fight the cloth he tries to put over my mouth to slip me into unconsciousness. Luckily there is no drug to knock me out on it, so I continue yelling for help even though they are muffled.

"STEVE HELP!"

"Shut up!"

"STEVE!"

I feel the man's weight and grip be lifted off of me, and I hear him choking and collapsing to the ground, or was that me? Both of us?

"Hey," a new hand touches my shoulder. "Woman it's alright."

"No it's not Steve, it never was," my voice shakes as I shudder panicky, smelling the aroma of cigar smoke and pine trees on the man's shirt; a black button up shirt with a white under shirt. _Steve never wears black, nor is that his scent. That is not Steve, or Bucky oh no—what happened to Steve? Where are they!_

The man's hand touches the cut on my side, and I slap his hand away, "I don't know who Steve is, but I'm not him. Girl, calm down."

When he puts both of his hands on the sides of my head, forcing my eyes to look into his, I start to breathe normally again. It's the tough guy from the bar.

"You're fine. Whatever he took from you he didn't get away with it. You must be having PTSD. Yes, you are. Calm down. Don't go crazy," he says with a soothing tone in a Canadian… no, Australian accent, a complete contrast to his still rough façade and his gruff tone from the bar.

At the mention of 'the man' who cut me to get my blood, I push the tough guy's hands off my face to look behind him to see the man dead, with holes pierced through his chest and his throat sliced as if by claws. The vial, next to the knife, lays shattered on the ground, with my blood all dried up, soon disintegrating.

When seeing that, I look down at my right side only to see my wound just finish sewing itself back up, as if it was never there, leaving only a small stain of blood on the inside of my coat where it was cut open.

"What the hell?" the rough guy whispers with a bronze hairy face full of shock.

"You saw nothing."

"Bullshit, I did!"

"It's complicated," I settle for saying as he nods his head as if saying 'yeah, I thought so', and as discreetly as I could I pull my coat over where the wound once was, and keep my expression guarded while I scoot my way over to the dead man in attempts to find any identification on him.

"It's only some gang member, no one important," the man who saved me notices as he stays where he is.

"How can you tell? What if he was a scapegoat for the government?" My paranoia and deep thinking take over as I stay careful of not touching the man in case his body is found and forensics get to it, so I only smell him as closely as I can.

"So what if he was, he's dead now! I highly doubt the government would be after you, dearie."

I avoid eye contact from the man as my jaw tightens, frustrated and panicked.

"Why are you still here?"

"To gossip with you," he voices dryly. "To get you away from the scene, and if I still don't make you uncomfortable we can talk about this," he states helping me up and stepping in front of my view of the dead man.

"I don't even know you," I back away, taking my hand out of his rough hand warily. "You may be one of them. I can't figure you out still."

"Well maybe it'll help if I told you my feelings are reciprocated," he comes closer to whisper with a hush, "And I know we both aren't what we really look like on the outside."

My eyes widen at his claim, "That could be taken a variety of ways."

He smirks, "Maybe. But the way you're acting, and reading that type of book, you would take it the right way. I didn't peg you as the type to notice innuendos or have a habit to heal back to normal."

"Me either," I frown as he hands me my book I dropped. He begins to walk away, but turns back around not hearing my footsteps.

"What?"

"I don't trust you," I say as if it's obvious. "I especially don't trust people from bars."

"I saved your life. I think you can cough up a nice gesture to owe me something, or am I a drunken, lazy, pathetic excuse of a man to deserve that," he says nonchalantly, as if he says it all the time, but I sense some anger, a lot of anger fighting to be let out.

"I never said that," I follow the unusual, tough, side-burn man to his motorcycle slowly out of the alley way. "Nor have I thought it. As you can see, I don't judge books by their cover." I raise my thick nurse textbook up for reference with a faded, dull beige cover, and scratches from all the previous owners who used it.

He raises a thick eyebrow, making his cheek curve defining his clean shaven mutton chops, "After that book, I can see you starting to judge people. No wonder why you have rough days, reading that thing."

I only sigh; it is like talking to Bucky, good grief. I look at his motorcycle; a Harley Davidson duo glide. It is clean, routinely cleaned- so he has responsibility. And his clothes are clean despite some spots of blood from the man he killed, and my blood on his jeans from wiping it off his hand when he touched my cut.

Perhaps he knows something I don't. What have I got to lose? I can defend myself if he acts on me, he has done nothing but help me so far, and saved me. _Made me giggle.. Hold the phone he was cursing!_

"Before we go anywhere woman—"

"Ruth."

"Congratulations you're the first woman named Ruth I ever met. Ruth's are all in nursing homes or dead," he replies snarkily.

"That wasn't too kind, but not bad, nice one. You saw the chance and you took it," I say causing him to let out a quick bark of laughter, but it almost sounded forced. _He isn't used to laughing much._

"And what is your name?" I ask.

"As I was saying, before we go anywhere, Ruth, is there anyone you know who will come looking for you?" He asks, ignoring my question completely. _Great, a man hard of hearing as well. Good sense of sound he said earlier._

"Wise of you to ask, no there is no one," I leave it at that with a hollow voice as I sit behind him on his motorcycle. He must have detected my discomfort of talking about people because before I knew it his engine started and we took off down the overcrowded streets of D.C.

"And yes I do have a form of PTSD. Those names I shouted earlier? Do your best to not mention them again, please."

"Were they family, friends?"

"Friends, like family" I mumble, looking past all the cars and shop windows. "An answer to my earlier question would be nice, if you want me to trust you," I ask with a frown when I wasn't told anything.

"No one trusts me sweet-cheeks," he answers, his voice humming with the engine.

"I'm not 'no one.' I did get on a motorcycle with the same man who killed the man attacking me didn't I? And he's from a bar," I ask gripping him tightly as he makes a wide turn down a street, and he looks at me thoughtfully.

"It's Logan," He huffs, facing forward once more and revving his engine.

Perhaps he thought I'd jump off the motorcycle if he didn't answer. _Yeah, he thought that. I think I can get a good read on him now._

* * *

'Logan' took me to 'his place' he so eloquently put it. But it was off the grid and safe as it was in the basement of an old apartment in a bad part of D.C. to talk about me and my quick healing abilities. And that's all I planned on talking about until I leave to go back to my own place of stay.

Once he shut the door, behind me, and the smell of cigars overwhelmed my senses, he leans down with his arm on the door behind me and told me, "You're a mutant."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're not human. I'm not either."

I stiffened and straightened my white blouse underneath my navy blue shoulder padded coat when his hot breath hit my face, "I figured when you didn't freak out seeing me sew myself back up."

"Takes one to know one."

"What's that supposed to mean? You heal too?" I manage to duck under his other arm rising to the other side of my head, and I step away from him.

He is contemplating hard, whether to answer yes or no. But obviously it's a yes because he would've said no by now.

"We're here to talk aren't we? So let's talk and answer questions or I'm leaving."

"Relax girl, this is how I get to know someone else like me," he utters under his breath at my impatience.

"Okay, my mistake. Cornering me though, like your prey isn't necessary though," I acknowledge what he had just done as nicely as I could.

"Then sit and don't touch anything."

After glancing around my surroundings at his 'man cave', as there's nothing worth touching, I took a seat. He soon explained why I heal so quickly, why I'm immortal, and how I have heightened senses- it was all being answered in that one word: Mutant. But that word, I do not like it. Why am I like this? How did I come to be this? He had no answer other than asking me about my bloodline. I told him nothing out of the ordinary came up until my incident when I was little. I was just accidentally shot in a riot and fell off a trolley car later on. My parents told me nothing wild of the sort, and they were normal human beings.

"Someone kept a secret from you. Are your parents?" he trailed off.

"They're dead."

"Hmm. That's vaguely similar to how I discovered my unnatural ability," he said, popping off the bottle cap of a beer he must've bought from Marv's a while back and stashed it in there with his other many bottles for whenever he wanted one.

He held up his beer to me, offering me some silently but I replied no, I don't drink.

With a gruff he kicked his fridge door shut and continued downing his beer.

"So… How did you discover your ability?" I ask confused when he didn't continue what he was saying just before.

"It was so long ago I don't remember."

My brow furrows, sensing his lie, and his hidden, desolate pain.

"It must have been painful if you don't remember," I quietly say as I cross my legs.

He stares me down with angered eyes, but trying to remain patient and calm, "A beast like no other is what I came to be. That's all I wish to say to you, for now."

"What _beast_ would that be?" I ask slowly, remembering the claw marks on the man who tried taking blood from me.

"He comes out whenever I want it to. Just to keep it short. And the government hasn't been on to me in a while."

"Well, that's good. Good job," I awkwardly compliment making him smirk again.

"As distinguished as you look, you must be around a lot of people," he drinks another swig of beer. "But you're so shy."

"Yes, I'm shy. That's one of my most human traits sorry to burst your bubble-"

"-You're socially strange is what I meant, despite being around everyone."

"Look who's talking. You're not so regular yourself as we just discussed," I recall as I twirl my hair, surprising my greatly because… I'm calm… _An inner part of me I never knew I had is suddenly taking hold. Maybe it's just the fact I'm talking to someone who understands. Or do they?_

"You mustn't have friends."

I slowly nod, agreeing, "I don't get along with some sadly."

He tosses his beer bottle to the trash can, and it breaks at contact. "I think you're getting along with me. I'm… tolerating you."

I scoff, sensing his aura changing, so I stand up from my chair to leave, "Look it was nice talking to you but I need to get back. We're just chatting now I see what you're doing-"

"What am I doing?"

"Trying to lure me into your bed is what! I'm not blind to your covered needs."

"Wait."

I stop almost to the door, and take my hair pin out to pile up my hair as I turn around to face him.

"What?"

I successfully pin up my hair without a mirror, and he still says nothing but stare at me contemplatively. But finally he walks up to me and drops his tough façade and my mind is wild with emotions and thoughts as my eyes go wide. _He has so many… but more prominent is an aura of pain, true loneliness, and circumspection as he stands before me right now. It's almost as if I'm reading his…heart? No, it has to be mind._

" _Logan_ , as much as communicating with the eyes is nice and all and I admit it's all I do at times, but being strangers in my book still, some words would be nice by now," I politely tell him, albeit a bit nervous because he's making me feel strange.

"Can't please everyone. I'm more of an action type of guy," he suddenly shudders violently for a millisecond and I hear the sound of metal, _swishing_ or _swooshing_? Swords being unsheathed I suppose. Then as I take in his tightened shoulders and hunched posture, I look down at his hands, tightened into fists but with claws— _metal_ claws—three claws on each hand just there…

I swallow, feeling my eyes are still widened from my shock of my mind reading his many emotions.

"So those were claw marks from you on that guy."

"Yeah."

"That's," I inhale a breath before giving him a small smile, to which his eyes begin to glint with amusement at my reaction.

"That's different. Amazing, if I may say."

"Nah don't worry about it. It's a curse I've adapted to, a second time," he raises his right hand, gazing upon it. "It used to be bone, before I was taken and experimented on."

"Well that's horrible," I say instead, feeling my heart grow heavy pondering all the details he is leaving out.

Not paying mind to my pity for him, he asks raising one of his thick eyebrows again, and lowers his arm, "I do not trust you, but I'm confiding in you to make myself feel better. We are very much alike Ruth. Have you ever had anything similar to _this_ happen to you?"

"No, I don't have claws. Nothing- nothing out of the ordinary like that."

"You can't be serious. Then what can you do other than heal, have heightened sense, and live forever?"

"Nothing! Nothing else. I've been living since the 1920s I think I would've noticed claws or a tail growing out my jitter-bugging _arse_ by now."

" _Jitter-bugging arse_? Really? I'm not sure which part is worse," His velvety accented voice of sarcasm begins to tip me over off the edge.

"Really, really?!" I put a hand to my head in exaggeration. "I'm speaking to you like one of my dead friends and I'm fine with this. I've also just met someone else like me and you nitpick at every strange word I say? I had a weird day, a rough day as I've been saying but _nooo_ everyone seems to ignore that part and want to make my day rougher and weirder. I don't want it to end up being bad-"

"-Who's making it bad?" His voice raises only slightly, but he detracts his claws actually making me jump back at the tight sound coming from his body. "I'm sorry if I am, and if I talk strange too, dearie. I was born _longgg_ before you ever were. Suffering long before you ever were. Living in my own frozen hell long before you." He stops to take a breath.

"But I can't help myself. From being curious. About a vulnerable, young- _ish_ woman naïve to others existing like her. That I happened to save from a man attacking her for her blood, and not even getting a thank you. I took you out of the public eye so we can talk privately. That's a once in a lifetime opportunity that I don't take too often, missy."

Every pause he made in his speaking sounded threatening, but not once did he threaten me. It only made him a more distinguished appearing man.

 _I never thanked him... I swear I thought I did._

His hard hands touch either side of my shoulders, carefully, as his dark eyes bore into mine.

"Thank you, Logan. I'm sorry, I thought I said something-"

"Shh you're bugging me now," he cut me off. "You have so many emotions, like a regular person would. But you're more like me than anything."

I inhale sharply as my thoughts on all his emotions come to mind, making my mind a whirlwind of unknowns, making me panic only a little.

"If you let me, or if you'd like, I can help you."

I lower his hands from my shoulders, and shake my head.

"I just want to go home. I don't need help. "

"Alright I'll take you back, but think-"

"Believe me I will," I assure him as I grab my bag from the floor and open his door leaving, hearing him follow behind me, shutting the door and taking the keys out of his pocket.

How can I accept his help when he seems to not be able to control his own emotions? A stranger. A mutant. Someone with claws? Someone like me?

 _I thought I was the only one._

* * *

Pulling up to my apartment building a few blocks past Marv's, Logan leaves his engine running as he stops. I jump off the back with ease, hearing my heels click hitting the pavement and shifting my book bag to my other shoulder with relief I'm home and alive in one piece.

"Thank you. I'm not sure if you heard me earlier," I shyly repeat as I slowly step back from him, closer to my building as some people walk past me heading back to their own places of stay or the corner market.

"Don't mention it. Just remember what I said."

"I've managed to live this long. If I happen to see you at the bar again then maybe its fate," I comment with a guarded tone, letting what I suppose is my human part of myself take hold, my nerves and worries of being known by this strange man, mutant, now. As long as he got the hint I'm not interested in seeing him again.

He revved his engine, and his intense, stern eyes burn holes through me. He revved it again and my eyes quickly glanced at his knuckles where I saw his claws emitting from moments ago at his place, but no claws were there currently.

"I know where you live now. Maybe I'll pay a visit soon, sweet-cheeks," he remarks with a gruff before lifting his feet and speeding off.

With my mouth parted and cheeks flushed, my eyes follow him speeding down the busy streets, weaving through cars, and disappearing around the same turn we took.

"No!" _Dumb-arse, he doesn't even know my apartment number!_

 _..._

 _Oh, right, his sense of smell.._


End file.
